Breaking Point
by agwp2010
Summary: Everyone has a breaking point. The point that makes them give up on whatever they were trying to keep alive. Well, this is Alfred's.
1. Chapter 1

**I know, I know, I have that other story to update and I've been gone for so freaking long. I know all of these things, but I still insisted on posting this instead. I'm sure you all hate me so much by now, but I think you should suck it up and enjoy this story. I'm going to have that other update published soon, I just have to do a few things to the new chapter and we'll be good. So, thanks for reading and enjoy this fun little story.**

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The jokes. It was all the jokes that had done him in. Alfred was so tired of hearing them all the time. He hated how the others made fun of him and his people. So what if he happened to have a few too many McDonalds? Who cares if his crime rate isn't the lowest in the world? And why in the world do people have to make fun of him being…heftier than average? Wasn't this the modern world? Nobody was supposed to care and everybody was supposed to be accepting of the others. But no, they had to judge and they had to hate and they had to make those damned jokes that they thought didn't hurt him.

Alfred was done hearing them. It was as simple as that. He was done trying to cover up the nights when he went home and cried into his pillow because he felt alone and hated. He knew his country wasn't perfect, but he didn't need to be reminded of it at every single meeting. Somehow, by some ungodly miracle, he had been able to survive without letting his façade slip. Everybody thought he was oblivious to the whispered comments, thought he constantly proclaimed himself as a hero because of arrogance, and didn't really seem to care about him. Yet he had remained strong. Until he was given a cook book.

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Alfred sighed and reached for his house key as he walked up the driveway. It had been a long meeting and he'd been able to smile through it. He had almost cracked when England made some hamburger joke, though he couldn't quite remember it right now. Alfred was proud of himself for it and let the tiniest flicker of a smile onto his face.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he almost tripped over the package on his doorstep. Alfred's face contorted in confusion as he picked it up. There was nothing written on it, nothing that hinted at who it came from. Alfred shrugged and walked into his house, dropping his suitcase by the front door and locking it behind him. He went straight to his couch and sat cross-legged on it, staring at the neatly wrapped package In his hands.

"I might as well open it. Can't be any worse than England's scones," he says aloud, wanting to fill the quiet with something. He unwraps the brown paper and becomes even more confused when it turns out to be a cookbook for people trying to diet. A small white notecard was lying neatly on top of the book. Alfred picked it up and turned it over; finding jagged writing that was hard to read on the other side.

 _Alfred,_

 _I couldn't help but notice the muffin top you had at the last pool party. Cut back on the burgers and use this cook book._

It wasn't even signed. Such a hateful sounding letter should have been signed. Alfred wanted to know who really thought like that.

This was it. This insignificant little note and book were the straws that broke the camel's back. Alfred felt tears welling up in his eyes and making his glasses foggy. He tried to hold them back, he really did, but he found that he couldn't anymore. Alfred was done. He was tired of trying to pretend it didn't hurt him in the worst of ways. He let the first tear fall and maybe a thousand more followed after it. He grits his teeth and roughly pulls off his glasses, squeezing them angrily in his hand. They broke and the glass cut into his palm. For some reason, this was the catalyst to making his sadness become rage.

Alfred stood up from the couch and threw the cook book across the room, breaking some vase England had given him a long time ago. He didn't care. He couldn't. Not until he understood how to get rid of this feeling. He clenched his hands and unclenched them, driving the glass a little deeper into his palm. He moved a little like he was going to walk somewhere and realized he had nowhere to go. This only made him angrier and he kicked the couch he had been on.

It felt good. He kicked the couch over and over; letting thoughts of destruction run rampant in his mind. It wasn't enough. It couldn't possibly be enough to make him feel better. Alfred finally stopped kicking the couch when his foot went through the seat. He growled a little at the couch's inability to last longer.

He stood there a moment, staring at the hole in his couch with puffy eyes that were red from crying. He slowly looked down at his hand and began to mindlessly take out the glass cutting his palm, numb to the pain he should be feeling. He dropped the last piece of glass on the floor and, without another thought, Alfred walked towards his garage. It didn't actually hold cars, but it does hold sports supplies and building tools. He threw the door open, relishing in the bang it created as the knob hit the wall and caused a hole to form.

Alfred stopped in front of the baseball bats he had lining the wall. His eyes fell on his favorite bat. The signed one. The one he had gotten from Babe Ruth himself. That's right. He had Babe Ruth's bat in his garage. He grinned at the sight of it, a sadistic kind of grin that could only mean trouble. Alfred grabbed the bat and held it in his hands, liking the weight of it.

He gave it an experimental swing, enjoying the whoosh as it cut through the air. He wanted to break something with it. He wanted to cause irreparable damage to something. Alfred's eyes landed on the various bins of nails and screws that surrounded all the unfinished wood shop jobs he had. He tightened his grip on the bat and took the two steps towards the work area.

The first swing knocked down a half completed birdhouse. The second a bench. The third and fourth the bins of screws and nails. He kept slamming his bat down onto the nails and screws on the floor, like he was trying to break the bat _because_ it was his favorite. He was hitting so hard the nails and screws became imbedded into the bat itself, turning it into an even more lethal weapon.

Alfred finally stopped after the floor was covered in wood chips, the scattered remnants of his projects. His breathing was slightly ragged as he looked away from the floor and at the bat in his hands. The bat had nails sticking out at odd ends and screws crossing over them in random patterns. By some miracle the bat itself had survived, no splinters could be seen and Babe Ruth's signature was still visible.

He thought that would help. Had hoped it would. It didn't. Honestly, it only made Alfred want to destroy more shit. And, for some unknown reason, he had started to cry again. Tears of anger clouded his vision as he went back inside. He stopped at a hall mirror and looked at himself. All he could see was a crazed, hated and despised person looking back. "Everybody hates you!" he shouted, swinging the bat at the mirror and shattering it on contact.

He did this with every mirror in the house, scattering the glass across the floor every time. It still didn't help. He still wanted to destroy more things. He still wanted to feel the short lived relief of knowing he had caused some insignificant object's untimely demise. It felt good. It felt better than trying to save everything and everyone when he knew he couldn't. Why hadn't he thought of this sooner?

Alfred sighed and angrily wiped away the tears. He blinked and looked around, realizing just how messed up his vision actually was. He went to his room and rummaged through the useless crap in one of his dresser drawers, pulling out his prescription sunglasses. Alfred looked at himself in the mirror, grinning at how the sunglasses were so different from his normal ones.

His eyes stopped on the "Golden Boy" blond hair gracing his head. Alfred scowled a little, hating how it reminded him of the blond jokes people made. He wasn't a ditz because he was blond and was annoyed with people thinking of him as one. Alfred considered shaving it all off, but decided that would just create a mess he didn't want to clean up. He put the bat down on his bed and found the hair dye he had used last Halloween for his zombie costume. It was a brownish red and, though only temporary, would last long enough for him to get a more permanent dye.

Alfred stood in front of the mirror, dye bottle ready in one hand, and stared at his reflection. Was he really about to do this? Was he really ready to make this huge change? Sunglasses were one thing, they could be written off as temporary before he got new ones. Hair? That was something else entirely. It was a major focal point of his appearance. What kind of hero just changes their appearance out of the blue? Wait. Just wait a second. Hadn't Alfred said he was done being a hero? Hadn't he been tired of trying to save the people that hated him?

Yes. The answer was yes. He was tired of being a hero. Alfred narrowed his eyes and started applying the hair dye, watching with some insane glee as his "Golden Boy" hair became darker and darker. He could practically feel the heroic tendencies falling down the drain and it excited him. Who said he had to help people anymore? Who cares if he might be letting people down? He wasn't letting anyone down anyway, since everyone happened to despise him.

Alfred grinned again as he set down the dye bottle, proud of his work. He definitely wasn't golden anymore. He felt different. He felt like he could do anything and get away with it. Nobody would recognize him with the sunglasses and new hair. Alfred could take on the world and nobody would be any wiser.

Yes, this is what he wanted. He had wanted-no he had _needed_ this change. It was a brand new him that could do the worst kind of shit and never be caught. Alfred put the sunglasses back on and picked up his bat again. He rested the bat against his shoulder as he walked towards the front door. Alfred took a deep breath when he stepped outside and raised an eyebrow at the revving of a motorcycle engine.

"Sounds like I've got my new ride," he says, talking to nobody and everybody. Alfred walked towards the rider on the motorcycle, a sadistic grin forming on his face.

This made it official. Alfred was done being a hero.

It was time for Alfred to be a villain.

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 **So, in case you couldn't tell, this was about Alfred becoming his opposite because of the other countries. This was on my mind for a while, to be honest. I hope you guys enjoyed it, comment your thoughts, and thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Breaking news! I'm not dead! Oh, it feels like it's been 84 years since I last posted something. Little Titanic reference for ya. Anyone get it? No? That's cool, but hopefully you'll see the Captain America reference in here. Yeah, it's in there somewhere. Anyway, I hadn't really been meaning to continue this, but I thought you deserved a little something more. I'm honestly not sure if I'll ever update this again, but enjoy this one! Thank you so much for reading and enjoy the story!**

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Alfred didn't think about the mess he'd left behind. Didn't think about the red dripping from his bat. Didn't think about the small voice in the back of his mind while he rode away. He did think, however, about his name. Alfred. God, it sounded like Steve. Like someone trying to be the next big hero. He didn't want that. Alfred. He clenched his teeth at the thought of it. Well, time to get a new name then. He likes Al, that wasn't so bad. It wasn't enough. There had to be more. He huffed and looked at billboards as he rode past them. He only caught letters as he went past. A few L's, an N, and maybe an E.

Alfred blinked and pulled over the motorcycle, stopping in front of a coffee shop. Allen. He grinned. Allen sounded great. It didn't sound like a hero. It sounded like a person who didn't give a shit. Well, there's a name. Allen grinned wider and pushed his sunglasses up, resting them behind his cowlick. He whistled as a few girls walked by, winking at them. Alfred wouldn't have done that. But he wasn't Alfred, was he? No, he was Allen. And Allen whistled at girls that walked by.

Allen scowled when his phone went off and roughly pulled it out of his jacket. His scowl deepened when he read the message. An emergency meeting. Not even three hours after they had just finished. He jerkily shoved the phone back into his pocket and pulled the sunglasses down again. The motorcycle shot off with the flick of a wrist. Allen thought for a moment, a devilish grin replacing his scowl. What better time than a meeting to show off the new him? That's right, it was the perfect time. He wondered about how to introduce himself as he rode there. Allen eventually decided it didn't matter. Why should he care? Hadn't he already done what they wanted?

He wasn't a hero anymore. They had made it clear they didn't want a hero. Was he a villain? Well, if this bike was any indication, he was. Allen hopped off the bike when he arrived in front of the meeting building and rested it on the kickstand. He grabbed his bat and walked in, resting it on his shoulder. He could already hear the arguing. That goddamn arguing. He pushed his shades up and stopped in front of the door. Allen cocked his head to the side, grinning widely as he kicked the door open.

The room became silent when the door slammed against the wall. Allen walked in, feeling their eyes on him and not giving a shit. He walked to his seat and sat down, resting his feet on the table and looking at them expectantly. Everyone was shocked. Surprised. Astonished, even. The silence went on and Allen quickly became annoyed. Where were the questions? Where was the voiced disbelief? "What the fuck are you all staring at?" he growled, glaring at them.

That broke it. The silence ended and chaos reigned supreme. Allen smirked, satisfied with the reaction he wanted. This was perfect. This is what he wanted. Everyone so shocked that their voices blended together. One, however, he could make out. "Alfred! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" Arthur demanded. Allen scowled and stood up. He stalked over to Arthur and loomed over him.

"It's not Alfred. It's Allen. And I'm doing exactly what you wanted. I'm doing exactly what all of you wanted!" he says, yelling the last part to the room of countries. They stopped and looked at him. He chuckled and it evolved into a crazed laughter.

"A-America, are you okay?" Feliciano asked nervously. He was hiding slightly behind Ludwig and had a scared look on his face. Allen stopped laughing and looked at him. Feliciano cowered slightly under his angry gaze.

"Am I okay? I have never been better. Wanna know why, ya happy bastard? Because I had an epiphany. That's right. I know what epiphany means. I know a lot more than you shit stains give me credit for. So listen up, assholes. I realized you were goddamn right," he says, grinning a little as he looks around the room.

"Alfred, please, there is no need for such language. Please, what were we right about?" Kiku asks softly. He takes a step towards Allen, meaning for the action to be calming.

"Let's get two things straight here. I will talk any fucking way I please. I don't give a shit anymore. And my name is Allen. You got that, tentacle boy? Allen," he growls, turning his glare to Kiku. He tightens the grip on his bat. He should have expected this too. Should have known they wouldn't accept him right away. Kiku balks, stopping in his tracks.

"Okay. Allen. Listen, you're being ridiculous. Tell us what happened. What the hell were we right about?" Ludwig asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Allen grinned again. This is it. This is what he was really waiting for.

He jumped onto the table, swinging his bat dangerously close to the people standing at the edge of it. He walked down it, all the way to where Ludwig was with Feliciano cowering behind him. Allen swung the bat so it was pointing at Ludwig. "You told me to work out more," he says. He punctuates the sentence by kicking the stack of papers in front of Ludwig, sending them flying. Allen turns and starts walking down the table. "You told me to stop being a fat butt. You told me to stop being so loud. You told me I was annoying. You said my burgers would kill me. You said I was useless. And you." He stopped in front of Arthur.

Allen crouched down so he was eye-level with Arthur. "You, Artie dear, told me to stop pretending to be a hero," he whispers, grinning maliciously. He stands up straight and holds his arms out to them. "Now, I don't usually consider myself to be a genie, but guess what?! Your fucking wishes are granted!" he yells at them.

Arthur frowns and crosses his arms. "Stop this ridiculousness right now. Get down from that table and behave," he demands. Allen raises an eyebrow and looks at Arthur.

"Ridiculous? Arthur, you hurt me," he says, placing a hand over his heart in mock hurt. "Isn't this what you wanted? I haven't eaten a burger since I left the meeting. In fact, I'm going vegan. I'm not being annoying. I'm being dangerous. I'm being everything you told me to be."

Arthur's mouth shuts and he looks away. He's obviously angry, too angry to argue. Zao scowls a little and his eyebrow twitches. "In all my years, I've never seen someone act with such disrespect," Yao tells him. Allen hums and looks at him. He walks over and bends down, casting a shadow over Yao.

"Really, old man? You wanna talk disrespect? Let's talk disrespect. Is it respectful to call me fat? To tell me I'm worthless? To tell me I never should have been discovered? To mock me? To insult me?" he snarls. Yao opens his mouth but closes it, a guilty look passing over his face.

Allen grins. That was what he wanted. He was going to make all of them see what they had caused. "Anyone else want to take a shot?" he asks, turning to look at them. Ivan smiles innocently and gets up on the table.

"I think you should not be making Yao feel bad," he says, looking at Allen with cold eyes. Allen laughs at him. Everyone freezes. Ivan smiles a little wider and walks closer to Allen, a dangerous aura practically visible around him. "Why are you laughing? Did I say something funny?" he asks.

Allen stops laughing and looks up at Ivan. He wasn't scared. They were even in strength. Allen knew this. Ivan did too. "You did. You seem to be thinking I'm going to cower and apologize just because you decide to be scary. Tough shit. You don't scare me. You don't get to scare me," he growls. He puffs his chest out a bit and gets in Ivan's face. He looks the other in the eyes, making sure Ivan knows he means business.

"I am thinking you are not feeling well, America. Maybe you should get some rest," Ivan says, his aura growing darker. The other countries cower. Allen refused to. He was tired of cowering. Allen lifted himself up a bit. He tightened the grip on his bat and grits his teeth.

"Make me, you Russian motherfucker," he snarled. Ivan blinks. He takes a step away from Allen, surprised. Allen grins victoriously at this. He just bested Russia. He made Russia back down. He was better than Russia. "Anybody else want to fucking challenge me?" he asks, looking around. Nobody moves. Nobody makes a sound. Allen grins wider. He walks to the edge of the table and jumps off. "Meeting adjourned," he says, walking out the door.

The nations left behind are speechless. They watch as Allen walks out the door, wondering what they just witnessed. Finally, Francis snaps out of his shock and breaks the silence. "What happened to him?" he asks quietly.

Arthur looks at him, obviously guilt ridden. "We did."

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 **Okay, so I hope that was up to your expectations. And, if it wasn't, then please at least be grateful you got another chapter. I don't know if I'll ever post something else for a while. Work is killing me and I get lazy when I get home and don't have the energy to write. So, maybe stuff when school starts again? I'm not completely sure. But thank you a bunch for reading this, comment your thoughts, and have an awesome rest of the summer!**


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